Moving On
by Cohen's girl
Summary: Edgeworth decides to visit his father's grave. Just a quick random fic. Edge x Phoenix


**Damn muse, kept me awake till half 2 in the morning until I finally decided I'd just have to write the fic and be done with it. "Gak!" The premise of the story is that this is a day or a couple of days after Case 4. If some facts aren't exactly perfect, forgive me, its been a while since I played the game. Please R & R! **

**Moving On**

The air was stiflingly thick and clammy; the thunderclouds overhead rumbling ominously, their murky grey tinged with a warning purple. Edgeworth pushed the old iron gate hard, the thick iron bars cold and smooth under his fingertips. There was a predictable gloomy creak as it opened slowly, revealing a familiar yet, in Edgeworth's mind, distasteful place. The graveyard was not a location that Miles had endeavoured to return to - certainly not in such dubious weather, but Phoenix could be incredibly insistent. He made a career in it, really.

He could also shout "Objection!" and "Take that!" a few decibels louder outside of the courtroom; and even if it hadn't exactly fit into conversation, his point had been clear enough. In order to get past his recent...harrowing...ordeal, there were certain things Phoenix believed Edgeworth must do.

Visiting the graveyard was one of them, apparently. But since when Miles had started taking _Phoenix's _advice he had no idea, and didn't care to think about it too long; it scared him more than a little.

When he had finished musing over the worrying revelation that he had actually begun to listen to his lawyer friend, Edgeworth marvelled at how quickly his feet took to a path they had not walked in years; sights he had not seen in at least a decade eerily recognizable.

There was the lonely and wilting flowerbed that no church workers ever seemed to have the heart to tend to- though, Miles had a feeling they liked it that way: they seemed to enjoy the miserable feel of the place. There the old fountain, suspiciously lacking its one component- water- and its intricately carved cupids missing a limb or two; they were probably hidden somewhere in the fountains basin, crumbling away. There was the solitary cherry tree; it looked like a skeletal old man in the winter months, with its spindly branches stripped and bare, but come summer it would be covered in leaves, hundreds of hues of green and streaming with flowers and falling petals when in full bloom. A hayfever sufferer's worst nightmare.

And there, the headstone of his father's grave. Edgeworth had purposely not come here for a very long time- convincing himself that to move on with his life, the past had to be left behind. Permanently.

It's funny how the past is so reluctant to be forgotten.

It seemed strange, foregin to think that this had been a regular haunt for a period of his youth. Long, hazy summer days spent sat arranging sprightly flowers and trimming grass that itched to grow long and unsightly. He had had no wish for his beloved father's grave to look like one of those untended graves; so desolate and overgrown, hollow and empty- devoid of love or care. Maybe it had been guilt, or loneliness that caused him to come so often- but Edgeworth like to think it was devotion; respect for the man he had idolised and loved so dearly.

Things had changed when Von Karma had become his mentor. The vile man- and Edgeworth could think now of no better word to describe him, than vile and cruel- had convinced Miles that going to his father's grave and showing that grief of loss was weakness, and that his father would not desire any such treatment. He had told Edgeworth, in no uncertain terms, that his father was dead and that going to visit his grave wasn't going to bring him back. Even as a child, Miles could not defy the logic of the bastard's words.

Now, years later, it was easy to see that his father's final resting place had not been cared for in some time. Dirty patches of moss and foliage obscured some of the words so carefully engrave, the flower holder rusted and brown with foul water. Thick grass loomed up around the headstone as if grasping to reach out of the stone's shadow and feel the sun; most were bent double, weary in their struggle.

Edgeworth's heart fluttered painfully at the sight of the thing, and he sank to his knees, regret sapping his strength. The clouds growled again angrily, threatening to spill their rain and illuminate the dismal place with flashing lightening. 'What is the word,' Edgeworth pondered whilst absently reaching out to pick away some of the mossy patches, that were strangely reminiscent of fat furry slugs. 'to describe when the weather reflects ones feelings?' After a moment of two of idle contemplation, he noticed the moss was encrusted under his fingernails- and his pale, bony hand looked almost like a corpse's hand, festering with mould. He hadn't been eating well these past few stress filled days, and where he had opted out of wearing "frills" as Phoenix so eloquently called them, his clothes tended to hang slightly from his frame; which only served to give him an overall unhealthy, if not deathly, sort of look.

"Pathetic Fallacy," he murmured, remembering one long and terribly boring lesson in school. "That's what its called." Well he wasn't really sure what the Fallacy part meant, but he considered himself to be pretty pathetic.

Sitting at the graveside, Edgeworth waited for something relatively monumental to happen; the spark of an old memory newly remembered, some relief of the guilt he still felt, some epiphany of what he now ought to be doing in his life.

Nothing happened.

Not mentally anyway; but the heavens opened and a steady pelting rain began to fall, splattering the graves with icy cold water, that trickled in rivulets like tears. Edgeworth sensed rather than felt the rain begin; a change in the air and the atmosphere, a sudden chill reaching into his bones, making him pull his mandatory magenta suit - and it was _magenta_ not pink- tighter to his body. The rain quickly drenched him; and though usually refreshing, seemed to soak through his clothes, seeping through his skin into his very being- weighing down his soul that little bit more. The deepening dimness of the storm and the evening inevitably drew his mood in an even darker direction; and it was as he began to mull over his own choices in life and how many innocent people he had sent down due to his unconvincing philosophy of always getting a guilty verdict- which was really more like revenge- as he was wondering how many innocent people he had sent down in his father's name, that Miles saw Phoenix out of the corner of his eye.

Phoenix had demanded that Miles let him come, and Edgeworth had eventually yielded, able to admit the sense in bringing another person when he felt so exhausted. He had, however, promised to stay in the car.

It appeared to be a promise he hadn't intended to keep. With his hands in his pockets and his head down, eyes flitting from side to side in a way that looked more than a little paranoid, Phoenix looked more like a frightened, spiky haired deer than a confident defence attorney; and Edgeworth did not try to conceal his smirk. Even in the gloomy dusk, Phoenix could not hide his unease; he stood beside Miles' kneeling form with folded arms, and stated,

"You were gone quite a while, so I thought I'd check on you." At first, Miles thought not to reply to that; then it crossed his mind to point out that he wasn't some fragile china doll. After deciding that he wasn't sure if that observation was entirely accurate, he simply replied,

"You were adamant you wanted to come. Its not my fault if you're not enjoying yourself." Phoenix made a vague "mmph." sound of recognition to Edgeworth's point, whilst trying to blink raindrops out of his eyes. Damp with rain, Phoenix's usually spiky hair was now drooping despondently, reminding Miles of a slightly soggy rabbit. He wondered why he always equated Phoenix with animals.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Miles smirked again, receiving a frown in return. Hoping that, though he felt no conscious change, somewhere deep down this depressing trip to his father's grave had fundamentally altered something for the better, Edgeworth decided it was time to leave. As he started to move, Phoenix offered him a hand up- and where once he would have point blank refused, he accepted the slightly wet and slippery help. Maybe he _had_ changed- or maybe he was just too tired, too worn out to care anymore. Either way, it was almost more of a hinderance than a help, and Phoenix had to grab his arm just to stop him falling back down again. Then there was one of those...moments...that sometimes happened when Edgeworth was with Phoenix, when everything went a bit quieter, and got a little dull around the edges, and Phoenix was just...there.

The rain began to intensify, running down his nose, and running down Phoenix's chin, till he murmured,

"He'd be proud of you, you know. Your dad." Edgeworth opened his mouth to say something, but his brain didn't seem to want to comply, so he just stood there for what seemed a lifetime, unable to speak. It was not until he truly registered what Nick had said that he was able to look away, and spat,

"He'd be ashamed, and I wouldn't blame him." Phoenix only shook his head, utter compassion and sympathy written in his features.

"No. He'd understand- why you chose the path you did. I'm sure of it. He'd be proud that you came through...everything." Edgeworth had no idea how exactly Phoenix thought he knew this when he had barely ever seen or spoken to his father; but he couldn't help but appreciate the sentiment behind the words. Most of the time Phoenix was as immature as a second grader- like that Cody kid- but sometimes, every now and then, he would surprise Miles with his empathy.

"You're wrong-" Edgeworth held up a hand to silence Phoenix's noise of protest, "But thankyou. I...appreciate it." Phoenix only nodded, blushing slightly when he realised he still had a firm hold of Miles' arm, and let go, brushing his wet hands on his suit. Looking at the grave for a quiet moment, he gestured at it and asked,

"Did it help?" To which Edgeworth only shrugged and, managing a small smile, answered,

"I hope so." Phoenix nodded again thoughtfully, before stuttering out,

"You know, Miles...If you ever-uh- that is, if y-you ever need anything..." The silent 'or anyone' did not go unnoticed, and Edgeworth, with tears in his eyes conveniently hidden in the rain replied roughly,

"Thank you, Phoenix."

They stood in companionable silence for a while, Edgeworth's earlier decision to leave momentarily delayed; the rain had cleared up, and the dark clouds began to disperse slowly, allowing him a few more moments by his father's graveside. It was strange; it wasn't like he really felt sad for his father's death anymore, or mourned him, it was as if...he missed the person he never really got to know. Missed the moments when his father ought to be there. It seemed unfair; neither of them had done anything to deserve his father's untimely death- yet somehow, divine intervention had decreed that he had to die. Or that was how Miles saw it. He sighed mournfully.

"I guess some things in life are just a mystery." He whispered. Phoenix, apparently not knowing how to reply, quietly and resolutely took hold of his hand, saying nothing in form of an explanation; and after a few more moments, tugged gently on said hand, pulling Miles in the direction of his parked car.

When he was once again behind the wheel, with Phoenix sat comfortably in the passengers seat with one of his hands resting easily on Miles' knee, Edgeworth knew he could safely say that, though he wasn't sure what it was, something had definitely happened- and though his father's death weighed heavily on his mind, maybe it really was time to move on.

He couldn't help his sneaking suspicion that this was one of Phoenix's things- one that he had failed to mention- that Edgeworth had to do to get past the last few days.

Not that he was complaining at all.


End file.
